A book deal would be nice, but if I work hard, I'll see that, and really, having a book deal won't change how I write or why I write, in fact, if I'm not ready, it'll only make things worse. So why waste a wish on that, right? No. I just can't wish for something I should work for.

Winning big at the lottery is what someone told me they wanted, but that is really not what I want at all. Not because I'm above money, (I do have to eat and the only things I seem to kill are plants) but because I believe in balance. Can you imagine how affected my Karma would be if I won a sea of money? I could never do enough good with it, I'd just drive myself nuts. I don't even buy a ticket and hubby told me if he ever wins, he won't tell me, respecting my Karma and all. No. I just can't wish for something I can never pay back to the universe.

Going back in time to change a moment is a wish I hear often, too. Again, the choices I made, were in that moment with the knowledge I had at hand. Changing that would change my entire life and maybe not for the good. So no. I just can't risk my wish changing other people's lives.

So you see, I really had everything I always wanted or I knew how to get what I didn't have or really, I was able to just accept what life dealt me. So it only made sense to save my wish for that day I needed it.

I'm cashing it in today. Right now. This is me wishing for the first time in my life. I've got my eyes close and I'm wasting my only wish because without it, my life will forever change in a way I'm not familiar with.

I woke up needing something I can no longer access. I can no longer breathe properly without. I can't work for it and it affects no one but me-- selfish old me and the little girl crying inside me.

I wish for ten minutes with my dad.

I won't be greedy and demand more. Just ten. My entire life he's been there to offer those ten minutes whenever I needed it. Once, he even said, "Just wait a minute there is a line up of men needing to talk to me, let me lock the door so they don't bother us." Yeah, he said that. I told him I could call back, but no, I had ten minutes of his undivided attention to talk about nothing.

And that's just it, what would I say in ten minutes that warrants having a line up of angry men at me? Worth wasting my once in a lifetime wish for? Not much actually, I would just talk like we normally did, about life, dreams, he'd know exactly what to say. We'd for sure laugh about some story he'd share. Probably the one about him trying to grow money in his backyard. It just feels like that type of story day. Ten minutes is always a long time. He'd have time to give me heck about something- he always had time for that. I'd give him heck for something, too. There might even be enough time to just sit silently and enjoy our together time. And then, I'd hug him, because there was nothing a dad hug couldn't draw out of me.

It's not the conversation I need. Or even the hug. It's the moment I walk away, the energy he'd leave me with to face life again. That's what I really need today and I have to waste my wish on this because I don't know how else to get it.

Gosh.

A moment. A conversation. A hug I can no longer get.
I never in my life thought I'd use my wish for that. But I'm cashing it in.

I am not a rockstar in any normal regular sense of that word. Let's just make that clear.

Here are the reasons I am not your traditional rockstar, nor will I ever be:

No one in their right mind would let a klutz like me near any type of valuable instrument unless they really hated the owner. I never met anyone that angry-- yet.

I have no idea what it feels like to hold a guitar. Even though my parents owned several and sang to me often. Both had incredible voices, btw.

I took several instruments apart when I was younger and climbed inside my piano once, trying to figure out how the heck they worked for others and not for me. magic?

I had a trumpet once, but we won't relive that tragedy. Poor thing is probably in Florida by now. Does our creek flow that far south? Possibly. Maybe some frogs made it their home.

My parents wanted to have a family band. I am probably the reason that dream went to the soup.

I can't sing. Not a note. In fact, I'm that poor child the nuns at school would ask politely to mouth the words and not actually voice them.

I wrote a cool song once that I hear in my brain, but I have no idea how to turn the lyrics into musical notes and I can't even hum it to you, I suck that bad. Please don't ask me to.

Which is sad really, because I love music. It inspires me, pushes me and I enjoy every type of music out there. Being an artist myself, I have a deep understanding of what goes into being a musician and it fascinates me.The entire process is magical. Like weaving a tale, no two songs are alike and each artist brings a new voice to the table. Like different genres, each arrangement offers something I can get lost in.

What intrigues me the most is the dream a true artist has, and this is where the rockstar part comes in, in a very non-traditional sense.

It's seen as a twinkle in their eye when they discuss the craft with other artists or how they almost climb on the table in excitement when someone "gets" them.

It shows in how they take care of their instruments, even if their house is a bloody whirlwind.

It's clear in how they forget others are listening and just melt into the melody they love as if it consumes them. This in turn washes out onto us, the audience, and captivates us like a magical spell.

It's so much more, though. There's the determination, which really I can't explain. It's almost an obsession, really.

The working late into the night because you suck and can't have anyone witness the horror you're about the do.

There's the thick skin when others tell you to just conform to society and give up already!

There's the itch that gets them at the oddest times. You know they're thinking about perfecting their craft and not the conversation you're holding. Not that you're boring- just something you said inspired them. Sure. Let's put it that way.

There's the creativity they unleash that astounds and makes us tear instruments apart to find out how the heck they did THAT!

And.
When they reach rockstar status, there's the humble attitude that makes people think they have it easy, even though you and I know they're up all night studying, learning, perfecting, being harder on themselves than anyone deserves.
Yet we want to be them because they are living their dreams. Rockstars are magical creatures.

They know their stuff and yet they don't go around bragging about it. In fact, I just watched a show where a really BIG rockstar said something like this (I am going from memory here); "Who am I to judge your singing? What do I know, really." geesh, if he doesn't know, who the heck does? It gives us a glimmer of who a rockstar really is, doesn't it?

The rockstar is me, you, all of us. We're just at different points of living our dreams, but it's the living them that makes us the rockstars. -This is what I want to believe.

So imagine how thrilled I was when someone told me I was living the rockstar life. This is how that conversation went:

This tall guy I've known since forever just gives me the once over with his eyes and chuckles. "Yup, a rockstar. Makes me envious."
My hubby grins, in that evil way he does. "Heck yeah, we're living the dream," he agrees much too eagerly. Clearly, he has a different definition of being a rockstar than most, but good for him, right? lol.

Made me think that maybe there was more to being a rockstar than the traditional definition. It's the journey that makes you a rockstar, no? Best thing someone ever told me, because I really am a rockstar, deep inside. I work my gig until late in the night. I've seen the starving artist days and I pushed through them trying things others frowned upon. I offer advice to others and yet, really, who am I but an idiot mouthing the words to a melody she hears in her head?

Yet, I do everything I imagine a rockstar does except sing-- instead I write. I do it with passion, with determination, and with a twinkling dream in my eye that I don't really care if I achieve because I feel like I'm living it right now.

So I kick back after a long week of working two jobs (one I'm not even paid for) and raising a family, enjoying the quiet of 3 am. There's a MS snuggled in beside me that sucks beyond belief. Two empty bottles lay on the floor. Powerades. The drink of real rockstars. I don't remember which order I drank them in, but the red ones are for stressful moments. I check. Two reds. Geesh. Maybe I won't reread the verbial vomit I just was lost in. It probably sucks so bad it'll make my eyes bleed. Why do I think I can write again? Doesn't matter, no one will see it until it's ready for the world. Hubby mumbles something about snuggling with lights off. There's an idea. Sleep. I'm done writing anyway. Anyone who needs two red Powerades in one night to write shouldn't be allowed near a pen and paper. I can't keep this up. Yet as I close my eyes, this tingling excited feeling washes over me. I can't wait to see the MS in the light of day. With fresh eyes. It's gonna be my best piece yet. Has to be. I'm always that much smarted at 3 am. I mean really, who isn't? The paper crumples as I roll over it. Just another story no one needs to know about.

Having fun living your dreams? What did you do today that made you feel like a rockstar?